


I just might have a problem that you'll understand

by viveriveniversumvivusvici55



Series: Lean on me [3]
Category: Stardew Valley (Video Game)
Genre: Body Image, Body Positivity, Communication, Depression doesn't always look the same, Established Relationship, F/M, Fat-shaming, Skinny Shaming, but that won't stop us from trying, love doesn't fix everything
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:14:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26290225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viveriveniversumvivusvici55/pseuds/viveriveniversumvivusvici55
Summary: The mirror is the worst judge of true beauty. - Sophie NamThe mirror can be a heartless bitch. Luckily, they have enough heart to drown it out.
Relationships: Shane/Female Player (Stardew Valley), Shane/Player (Stardew Valley)
Series: Lean on me [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1513310
Comments: 3
Kudos: 42





	I just might have a problem that you'll understand

**Author's Note:**

> Another little bit that I wrote at work and has been sitting in my inbox. Polished it up - and now I shall let it fly.
> 
> These two little scenes are brought to you by [ this comic.](https://imgur.com/a/V0eHw#zXacNS2)

Shane walks in on Clarice giving the mirror a look like she's being hunted. She’s in her plain black underwear, body tilted sideways to look at herself, and tension has tightened every muscle in her body. Her fingers brush over her ribs, her hipbones, the very slight swells of her breasts. The muscles in her arms, her shoulders and collarbones, the gap between her thighs. She puts her shoulders back to raise her chest, to try and make it look like more is there, but relaxes with a scoff. Her expression is grim. Resigned, scared, and overall not enjoying the experience.

He supposes that, in its own way, her reflection is an enemy. Shane knows better than most about the feeling of dissatisfaction with your own body, and it certainly doesn't help when you are shaped in such a way that everyone notices.

No matter what she does, Clarice is still small and frail. She's 5'1", and maybe 100 pounds soaking wet. She feels the cold viciously, bundling up in layers of fabric the moment there is even a hint of frost, and any sickness she gets rips through her. According to Clarice, she’s always been small and lean. A fast metabolism wiped out any weight she gained, and when she worked at Joja, the few mandated breaks didn’t leave a lot of time to eat. Neither did her budget allow for good food. She has lived on very little for a long time, and she certainly didn’t care enough about herself to eat well. One meal a day, a mixture of cheap food and junk food, and the slow sinking depression a weight that suppressed her hunger. Any extra weight was a side effect of her antidepressants, once she started taking them, but there wasn’t much. She’s taking better care of herself now, eating better food more regularly, and there’s muscle built onto her frame. Not more than an inch of fat, though.

Shane looks at her and sees strength. He sees the suntanned skin and freckles, the muscles that cover her arms, the old scars on her palms from when she used to overwork herself. He sees how she is growing and healing, and when she has to go to the city to get new clothes because things she wears have grown too tight, he is so achingly proud of her. But that is not what everyone sees. People constantly ply Clarice with food when they see her. If he had a gold for every time someone has commented how she needs a sandwich, he wouldn’t be rich, but certainly comfortable. 

(He wonders what someone said to her today to make her so uncomfortable in her own skin. He wonders exactly how much trouble he would get into for yelling at them.)

There is something a bit appealing about how slight she is, though. Shane knows better than to try to pick her up in any way – Clarice hates anything remotely infantilizing – but there are moments that her slightness works. When she is comfortable enough to dance, he can lift and spin her with ease. Her head fits nicely under his neck, his stubble tickling the bare patches of her shaved head, and his arms can wrap around her with ease. She is the perfect little spoon, fitting into the crook of his large body with ease. When it gets too hot, she can stand in his shadow to stay cool. When they swim, she can launch off of him to cannonball into the water, even though she barely makes a splash. When she borrows his hoodies, they hang off of her like a tent, going halfway down her thighs, and the sight of it makes him feel deeply possessive. She is his, small as she is.

She is power in a compact frame. He has joked more than once that she is the prime example of big things coming in small packages. The idea that anyone could look at her and see her as weak is so...wrong.

He shakes his head, pushing off from the doorframe, and walks over to her. Moving to stand behind her, Clarice meets his eyes in the reflection, and although she doesn’t smile, her eyes lighten. It’s always in the eyes for her. His hands hover over her hips in a silent request, and when she nods, he gives her a hug from behind. He rests his chin on her head, rubbing his stubble into the shaved spots, and she giggles quietly.

“Looking good,” he says softly.

She looks at them in the mirror, and her expression eases into something so soft it hurts. Her hands slide up to cover his, running her thumbs over his knuckles. He towers over her, his body peeking out at the sides, and he thinks, for just a moment, of a solar eclipse. Although he is no sun - if anything, she is, and he is the poor sap reflecting her light. Or maybe they are moons, following each other in an orbit.

Clarice laces her fingers with his, gently tugging his hand up. Shane obliges, and she raises their joint hands so she can press a kiss to his fingers. Her eyes lock onto his, even as her lips brush against his fingers. There is still discomfort in her eyes - there's no way to take that completely away - but it is not as dark. There is a smile at the edge of her lips, and she nudges her body back into his. Her skin is slightly chilled from the evening air, and as he wraps around her, the warmth in Shane's heart threatens to overwhelm him.

He lets it happen.

Her voice is soft, tinged with reverence. "We do."

Shane tugs their hands a little bit higher to press a kiss to her callused fingers. “Who was it?” He prompts softly.

Clarice is quiet for a moment, considering the question, before finally she replies, “Pam. She was talking about how real women have meat on their bones. What was it – men like curves, only dogs play with bones?”

Shane goes silent, stilling against her. “Shane, don’t go fight her please.” Clarice squeezes their joined hands.

“She needs to apologize,” he retorts.

“She did. You should have heard Elliot. And Alex. And Emily. And Gus,” Clarice smiles just a little more at the memory. “They were very vocal.”

“Good.” Shane growls, tucking her into his body a little more.

“Still hurts, though.”

There’s nothing he can do to chase that feeling away, other than bending down and pressing a kiss to her forehead. But…he murmurs into her hair, “Should we get your dog so I can show you that men and dogs like you?”

Clarice’s laugh fills the entire bathroom, and she turns in his hold to lean up on her toes and kiss him. “Let me put some pants on first.”

* * *

_“Mirrors are perpetually deceitful. They lie and steal your true self. They reveal only what your mind believes it sees”_

Clarice walks into the bathroom to see Shane standing in front of a mirror in his briefs, squeezing his stomach. Her heart twists in pain inside her chest. She knows that it’s impossible to shrink or become smaller in an instant, but she can read in Shane’s face that he desperately wants to. He has never liked taking up space – he feels that he doesn’t deserve it, he told her one night, wrapped around each other in bed, her thin arms over his middle. He already takes up too much space – he’s 6’2” with broad shoulders and big feet – how dare he take up more? Far more than a person should, for that matter. Clarice told him that he deserved the space he took up, and his therapist added her voice to the argument. But Clarice knows how body issues linger in the back of the mind.

Shane’s metabolism is nowhere near as fast as it used to be. While Clarice has to fight to keep weight on, Shane jokes that all he needs to do is look at a cake and he’ll gain five pounds. While Shane was a teenager playing gridball every week, that was okay, but now, while the only exercise he got was stocking shelves, his body couldn’t keep up. He also didn’t care about himself enough to eat well – he survived on frozen food, carb-heavy meals that he didn’t need to put effort into other than popping them into a microwave, and plenty of beer. His depression turned his stomach into a gaping maw, hoping that the warm comfort of food would appease the great emptiness inside of him. It didn’t work, of course, but it didn’t stop him from trying.

There is more muscle on Shane than there was before. He works hard at the farm, feeding animals and tilling fields, and he even takes shifts to help at the community centre. There are lines on his biceps and a strong curve to his calves. He huffs and puffs less, and even though his face still gets red with exertion, he looks infinitely less defeated when it happens. Besides the strength and muscle, Shane is happier. Everyone in town can see it. Between therapy and antidepressants, a fulfilling job, a little more time spent in personal relationships, and a lot less beer, Shane looks like he’s gotten his soul back. He takes better care of himself, but his body is slow to get the memo.

Besides, Clarice kinda likes the bulk of him. Shane is always warm, able to wrap around her and keep her cozy and comfortable when chills run down her spine. When she’s used him as a pillow (a rare occasion, but one that always makes him happy), resting her head on his stomach or thighs had been comfortable, intimate, and peaceful. She likes the aesthetic look of him – she definitely has positive things to say about his butt – and keeps thinking of Renaissance paintings. Rubens would have loved him. Not to mention that cuddling with Shane is a marvel. She hates when people purposefully make her feel small, but being small around Shane has never been a bad thing. She feels safe with him. And really, what is the greater victory, to make it through life made of sharp edges, or to survive life and still be soft?

As Shane turns in the mirror, self-loathing plain on his face, he squeezes his body. His stomach, the rolls on his sides, the fat on his chest. Clarice creeps up behind him, trying to be sneaky, and the moment he lifts his arms up, she slides hers under them. He jumps, but she wraps her arms around him in a hug, resting her hands over his belly.

“Looking good,” she murmurs, sliding to his side so that he can see her better. His arm automatically settles over her shoulder, and his expression melts into something soft and vulnerable. He doesn’t respond, turning his face away from the mirror as his cheeks go a bit pink. His hands come down to rest on her arms – not pushing her away, but maybe just to take comfort from her.

She doesn’t ask what happened, just offering gentle quiet, and finally, Shane speaks, rubbing his thumb over her arm. “Marnie means well.”

Ah. Of course. Marnie has always meant well, but when the words come out of her mouth, the kindness and care get muddled with shame, and it turns into guilt and disappointment. For the most part, Marnie has held her tongue on critiquing his mental health – Clarice has given her a talking to enough times – but it comes out in other ways. Such as her attempting to ask about his health, which likely turned into her telling him that he needed to lose weight for his health.

“I know she means well, I know it,” he repeats, “but why am I not enough for her?”

Clarice squeezes Shane tighter, resting her head against his chest. There’s no…easy answer for that question. “You are enough,” she tells him instead.

He lets out a slow, shaking breath, bowing his head to look at her. “Thank you.” There is a bit of moisture in his eyelashes, and he lets go to rub a hand across his eyes. “ _Thank you._ ”

She turns in his hold to stand before him, putting herself between him and the mirror, and stands on her toes. Shane's hands immediately rest on her sides to stabilize her as he leans down to meet her in a kiss. As they part, she brushes two more across the apples of his cheeks. "At this point, we should put a cover over the damn thing," she mutters.

"I need to shave, Clarice," Shane chuckles, his forehead resting against hers.

"We have smaller ones for that."

She can feel him considering the thought. "Maybe."

After a few moments, her arches are aching and Clarice settles back down to the floor. She gently leads him away from the traitorous mirror. "Or maybe I can shave you?"

"That feels like an excuse to act out Sweeney Todd, Clarice."

"It would be fun, though."

"You practise on a watermelon first. Then we'll see."

...who needs a mirror when your best qualities are reflected in those you love anyway?


End file.
